


fly not yet

by wildcard_47



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: Taken from the kinkmeme prompt: "There's a detail in Michael Palin's book that Lady Jane Franklin had wanted to buy [FrancIs] Crozier a pet parrot for the Antarctic expedition. Please give me Francis being driven mad by a parrot which someone has taught to recite love poetry constantly."BeforeTerrorsets sail for the Arctic, her Captain is given a special gift.





	fly not yet

“I―madam, this is―not necessary, though I thank you.” 

The rictus of sheer horror forming on Captain Crozier’s face was nothing short of hilarious. Fitzjames watched with barely-concealed glee as Lady Jane Franklin deposited a two-foot tall birdcage onto the  _ Terror _ Captain’s table in the Great Cabin. Standing a respectable distance behind her, he could not help but treasure Crozier’s utter shock at the sight. It was so rare to see the man knocked off his form by anything save the drink.

“Now, Captain Crozier, pray do not forget your manners,” James reminded him. “Obviously it is quite a surprise, to receive an especial gift….”

When the lady’s back was turned, Crozier fixed him with a bullish glare that could have melted steel, although his tense posture shifted slightly as he came to stand next to Sir John’s lady wife.  “How thoughtless of me. Of―of course this is most kind, Lady Jane. I am merely startled by such a gesture. That is all.”

He was to be further shocked, in James’s opinion, as Lady Jane pulled the sheet down from the bell-shaped structure.

Inside, a large grey parrot hung upside down on a swinging gold perch, looking like a little trapeze artist. It tilted its head in confusion as they watched it, one beady black eye studying them carefully and running in and out of focus.

“Hello, little friend,” Lady Jane said to the bird, who chirped, and fluttered back onto its perch, feathers ruffling up tall. “This is your new master, Captain Crozier.”

Crozier had turned rather pale, perhaps even with fright rather than simple nerves. If he was afraid of birds, this would become very awkward indeed.

“Please―do not misunderstand me, Lady Jane, I am obviously―this is quite generous of you, truly, but I can’t possibly accept a gift of such―extravagant nature.”

“Oh, tosh, sir,” answered Lady Jane with a laugh. “You cannot expect me to make a present of a little pet to an expedition commander but not to his Second. That is not done, sir. I shall not play favourites in that way, not so soon before you depart for the Arctic wilds.”

“He―but Sir John is your family, and I am―well.” Francis’s horror had turned to something like desperation; he struggled for words. “Er. Rest assured I would not mind if you did such a―”

“Oh, Captain Crozier, if you must persist in this detestable protestation, then I shall also need to tell you my rather clandestine reason for this occasion. Which is to say you need added companionship on the voyage, sir. Any good captain does, you know.”

This seemed to draw Francis up short; a pink flush rose in his cheeks. “Well, I―I have Neptune. As―as well as the men.”

“Neptune cannot converse with you,” Fitzjames pointed out.

Upon hearing his name, Neptune got up from his blankets to butt at Fitzjames’s legs; grinning, he knelt down and scratched the beast’s ears.

“Oh, yes, you cannot talk to us, and it is such a shame. I am sure you are the brightest hound who ever lived. Yes, you are. So big and strong.”

“Fitzjames,” groaned Crozier.

“Fear not, Captain, I can compliment your newest companion just as well, should you require it.”

Lady Jane looked delighted. “Good, then it is all settled. Francis, you shall keep my little gift. James, you shall come and visit them both when your duties allow. Oh, how perfect. I cannot wait to inform Sir John you have accepted; do you know, he was so worried you would not care for the poor thing! Now, we two have been calling him Muffin, as his favourite time of day so far has been breakfast. I do not think he quite answers to it yet, but I am sure he shall learn his name given time. Apparently the greys are rather intelligent!”

Once she had departed the Great Cabin, and the two men were left alone, Francis gave James a hard look.

“Don’t you dare call that damned bird  _ Muffin _ .”

“Peace, sir.” Fitzjames held up two hands to show that he did not especially care for this name, either. “I am sure you will think of a suitable enough moniker, given time.”

“Jesus God.” Crozier merely stared at the bird in a despairing way, as some poor ship’s boy deposited perhaps a quarter-ton sack of birdseed next to the open door. “Don’t suppose you want to roost out on the docks before we leave, do you?”

The bird squawked in disgust, and immediately fouled the lining of his cage.

 

##

 

“Hello, gorgeous. Are you enjoying this fine weather? Do we have a name yet?” 

Fitzjames had apparently taken his duty to  _ visit the bird _ rather seriously, as he took pains to chat with it every damn time he came aboard  _ Terror. _

“It won’t speak to you,” growled Francis, conveniently leaving out the fact that the parrot would not speak to him, either. Only Jopson had managed to teach it three useful phrases thus far:  _ I’m hungry, time to eat,  _ and  _ good night. _

“Oh, do not be such a little minx,” cooed Fitzjames through the cage door, as if Francis had not spoken. “I did hear that we have all been very wrong in assuming you were a boy, so you must accept a gentleman’s apologies on that score. Either way, Doctor Goodsir has made your excellent health very clear.”

“Time to eat,” replied the bird, fluffing her head.

“No, you silly goose. Jopson has already fed you your breakfast. Let us continue to think of names, eh? Do you like Diana?”

“Stop bloody speaking to her like I’m not even here.” Francis let out a scoff. “What do you even want? Does Sir John need something?”

“Nothing apart from reminding you to join the complement tonight.” James said, still focused on the occupant of the cage. “In truth, that is all I was sent to tell you. So I thought I might ki―er, complete two duties at once. Isn’t that right, lovely girl?”

“Muffin,” chirped the bird. “Have a muffin.”

“No, we’re not doing that again,” Francis said sternly, glaring at her. “Christ, it’d be so much easier if you’d just answer to something ordinary. An ordinary, fine name.”

“I think you look like the moon.” James had reached into the cage, now; Francis noticed he was stroking the bird’s puffed out chest with the back of his index finger, and wished that she might bite him instead of looking so goddamned pleased with herself. “What do you say, eh? Would you rather be called Hecate? Or Juno? Or Luna?”

“Luuuuna.” She clicked her beak in delight, and did a funny bobbing step Francis had never seen before. “Luna Luna Luna.”

“Well.” The wide smile that spread across James’s face was more genuinely pleased than any expression Francis had seen him wear at the wardroom table. When he glanced backwards to meet Francis’s eye, even Francis could not help smiling back. “Luna it is, you absolute darling. Goes rather well with Neptune, if I do say so myself.”

“Neptune!” called Luna as she flew to another perch―and the hound came rushing in from wherever he had been on the orlop, barking madly.

“Luna, stop it,” snapped Francis. “Don’t tease the dog.”

“Tease the dog,” she repeated. “Tease the dog.”

Fitzjames only laughed.

 

##

 

We have lost Sir John!  _ Do you not feel it? We have lost Sir John! _

Fitzjames had wept after this outburst, like a penitent child, to the point where Francis was forced to end the gathering more early than strictly necessary. But still this visible outpouring of grief weighed on him. After all the duties were assigned, the men were told the schedule for tomorrow’s funeral, and supper had been served, he found he could not stop thinking about the raw, ashen pallor on Fitzjames’s face.

Cursing under his breath – for it was all too easy for Luna to pick up unfortunate words, these days – he got out his thickest layers, rang for Jopson, and informed him that he was going over to  _ Erebus,  _ along with a bit of company.

Luna squawked and trembled the whole way over, scared by the wind and the cold as much as the feeling of being trapped under his greatcoat; she clung to his waistcoat and sweater like they were a lifeline. Meanwhile, Neptune just seemed happy to be outside for more than twenty seconds at a time, even if his feet had been greased in beeswax and he had snow all in his shaggy coat. Probably wasn’t even cold. Giant bastard.

The Marines and men on duty seemed delighted to see Neptune come aboard, if not Francis himself, and so he left the Newfie to their ebullient greetings, and went in search of Fitzjames.

Who had apparently not moved since last they met; he sat in his same chair in the Great Cabin, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and tear tracks shining on his face.

“Brought the zoo over,” was all Francis said, as he released Luna from the confines of his sweater, and tossed her a dried slice of candied lemon from Mr. Wall’s stores. Although she flew far away to roost over the brazier, she still made a pleased noise before darting down to retrieve her treat. “Good bird, Luna.”

“It’s cold,” she chirped back.

James stared at him, clearly not understanding. “You brought them here?”

“Hello, gorgeous,” said Luna after a moment.

“‘Lo,” said James, flat and quiet.

Francis merely shrugged. “Thought they could use a bit of novelty.”

Luna clicked her beak, then tossed her head back and imitated Neptune’s barking howl.

James raised a surprised eyebrow. “Didn’t know she could do that.”

Francis shucked off his gloves with a sigh. “Well. You’ll hate it, after awhile. Poor Neptune’s convinced I’m hiding another damn dog from him.”

When the hound himself returned from going all over the decks, he seemed to understand that this was not  _ Terror _ ; he spent most of the first few minutes in the Great Cabin with his nose to the ground, wandering all over the cabin, then to James, and then into Sir John’s room before walking back out with a sad sigh.

“He’s not here, old boy,” James told the dog, and beckoned him over with one hand. Neptune did not budge an inch. “Shall I give you a scratch, though? Would you like that?”

Whining, clearly disappointed, Neptune lay down between the berth and the outer cabin, and made no move to get up, becoming a puddle of damp fur and muscle.

“Goddamn it,” sighed Francis, as all his ideas of the dog cheering Fitzjames up vanished into thin air. “Neptune, you absolute useless article.”

“Goddamn it,” repeated Luna, in Francis’s voice. “Article. Article.”

“Luna, I’d offer you a scratch, too,” James said loudly, “but clearly you’ve very pressing business in your corner. And I’ve lots of whiskey to drink, so. Bully for me.”

He took a deep drink from his glass, and poured himself another, just as Luna piped up again.

“Whiskey’s running low.”

_ Fuck.  _ Francis put his head down on the table as a rustle of feathers sounded overhead.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she said next; Francis raised his head to see Luna actually  _ perching on James’s hand _ , whistling and preening before she tilted her head at him. “How are you today?”

“Not good,” came the answer, with a hitch of breath. “Why? How are you?”

Luna bowed to him to indicate she wanted to be petted; startled, James lifted his other hand and began to stroke her head. 

“It’s all right,” she said, and pushed her crown into his fingers, as if she were about to nuzzle them instead of snapping at his hands, the way she always did when Francis had attempted to pet her.

Where the hell had she learnt to do that?

With a soft, desperate noise, James started weeping again. 

Christ, it was absolutely pathetic, watching the man snot all over himself, while the only one who attempted to comfort him was a goddamn talking bird. Who kept whistling at him and fluffing her feathers while spouting off idiot phrases that made no sense.

Francis blamed the whiskey for what happened next. 

Draining his glass, he crossed over to James’s chair, and put two hands on the man’s shoulders; James made that high whining noise again and gripped Francis’s waistcoat in both hands. Luna screeched and flew off to perch on a chair, while James buried his face in Francis’s middle till Francis had to resort to petting him the way he might have done either of the animals, stroking James’s soft hair away from his brow and his neck till the gulping sobs finally quieted into uneven breaths.

“Sorry.” James lifted his head, eyes searching Francis’s. “‘M sorry.”

“No,” murmured Francis, still brushing hair away from James’s face. This was not intelligent; he had to stop, but he could not seem to get his fingers to listen. From this angle, James’s dark eyes gleamed bright and his lips were pink as roses. “Apologies are not needed. We are all altered. It – you must know that I – ”

_ Understand,  _ he meant to say.  _ Share your grief. Shoulder that burden. _

In lieu of words, he leaned down, and pressed his lips to Fitzjames’s forehead; James inhaled sharply at the touch, and shuddered so fiercely it shook the chair below him.

“Francis.”

Swallowing hard, Francis bent his head further and dropped a kiss just below James’s nose this time; it was clumsy and ill-timed, but sincere nonetheless.

James’s hands released Francis’s waistcoat only to travel lower. As nimble fingers trailed across his laces, then dipped beneath his waistband, Francis shut his eyes.

 

##

 

“Hello, gorgeous,” piped up a voice just beyond the door; puzzled, John Bridgens opened it to reveal Luna scratching at the doorway. She promptly flew in and perched on an empty wooden bookstand.

“Well. Nice to see you, Luna.”

“Whiskey’s running low,” she sang back, before setting in to grooming one of her wings.

Bridgens sighed, but said nothing. Likely that was one of the reasons Captain Crozier had come calling so late, although it did not explain why he had brought her with him. Nor why she had been shut out of the Great Cabin.

At any rate, Luna did not seem interested in quiet speculation about the two Captains, and flew to sit on the rail of his bed. “Story!”

“Well. You know I can’t let even one African Grey leave  _ Erebus _ without a good tale of adventure for her fellow kin.” Bridgens smiled at the bird. She cocked her head to one side, pinning her pupil in a way that meant she enjoyed this pastime very much. “Would you like the poetry tonight?”

A squawk; he was reasonably sure this meant yes.

“All right. How about  _ Ode on a Grecian Urn? _ ”

“Three,” she said, which probably meant nothing. “Star.”

Now that was likely a request.

“Star....which one did I read you last time….ah, here it is.” Bridgens pulled his reading spectacles down onto his nose, and beckoned her up onto his shoulder, so she could toy with his hair as he read. “Bright star, would I were as stedfast as thou art….”

 

##

 

“What the fuck do you want?” chirped Luna from her perch, the instant Francis returned from his inspection of the lower decks.

Maybe it was the whiskey, or the headache that now pressed at the base of his skull, unrelenting, but she didn’t seem to like him much anymore.

“Christ,” he snapped back. “You could at least say hello.”

She made a noise that sounded like water being poured into the bath. “It’s all right.”

“Goddamn it.” Francis chose to ignore this for now in favor of sloshing more whiskey into a nearby glass. The bottle was nearly gone. How many more left?

Luna made the water noise again. “Whiskey’s nearly out.”

Francis slugged back a mouthful of whiskey in a careless way, growling around the rim of his glass after he swallowed it. “Shut up, Luna.”

“Goddamn it. Two!” She nibbled at one foot. “Sophy cannot marry him.”

This time, Francis pitched the glass clear across the room; it shattered against the lower bookshelves next to Luna’s cage as he roared out the first words that came to mind.  _ “SHUT UP!” _

Luna shrieked in fear, flying up to the highest rafter in the Great Cabin before puffing up all her feathers, her claws digging into the wood.

“Ouch,” she said, quiet and almost plaintive.

When Francis peered up at her through bleary eyes, he noticed a bright spot of red along her white chest, and blanched.

Jesus fucking Christ. Had he hurt her?

As the anger ebbed away, leaving only shame and disgust to join the nausea in his gut, Francis shut his eyes against the sight of his own bird trying to flee from his drunken temper. Christ. At this rate, she and Neptune would rather run off to the Netsilik than live with him. Maybe they could make her a little sealskin coat and a pair of  _ kamiit _ .

The knock that came at the door was perfunctory at best; Jopson entered and shut it behind him with only the barest attempt at civility. 

“Everything all right, Captain?”

“Fine.” Francis turned toward the portholes. “Just—take Luna to  _ Erebus. _ ”

“What?”

“Take her,” he repeated, waving a hand up at the rafters.  _ She doesn’t want me. Nobody wants me. The whiskey will run out and I’ll put a bullet in my brain once it does.  _ “She likes him better than me, anyway. And she can’t stay here.”

“You’re—giving her to Captain Fitzjames?” Although Jopson was normally able to carry out his Captain’s wishes before Francis could even voice them, he seemed confused by this. “Why?”

“Just take her  _ away, damn it! _ Let her outside till she scratches at the hold doors. Have one of the Marines shoot her for target practice. I don’t give a damn where she goes, long as she’s out of my sight!”

Jopson did not argue the point further, simply sighed, and readjusted his posture before stretching one crooked arm toward the rafters. Francis did not have to watch him posture this way to know that Luna would fly down to him when called.

“Come on, girl.” Jopson murmured, making a clicking sound with his tongue. “Come with me now. I know you’re frightened. But we’ll take a walk, hm? We’ll take a walk now, if you like.”

After a long minute, Francis heard the rustle of feathers, followed by another murmur of soft praise –  _ good girl, Luna _ – and the sound of the door closing behind them.

 

##

 

“What the hell are you doing?” snapped Fitzjames, the second he arrived in  _ Terror’s _ Great Cabin _.  _ He had not even bothered to remove his slops. The oversight did not matter; without the lamp, the room was so dark Francis was reasonably sure his Second could have been stark naked and he wouldn’t have noticed.

“What the fuck’ve  _ I _ done?”

“Luna’s hurt, and you’re drunk, and you’ve sent her to me for some reason?”

“She’s frightened. Won’t shut up.”

“Why? What happened?”

_ I wanted to hurt her,  _ Francis could not admit.  _ And for what? Because she desired attention? Affection? Kindness? _

“If she doesn’t want me, then I don’t want her.”

“You are being a child, Francis! Worse than, even, as most children show only kindness and respect to their pets. Would you treat Neptune as you have done Luna? A mere babe? A woman? Any other creature whose only crime is to love you?”

“Shut up!” Francis shouted instead. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me!”

James’s mouth twisted in anger. “Perhaps not. Even after all this time, we are mainly strangers. All I know is that if you carry on like this once the whiskey goes, you truly  _ will  _ be the worst kind of First.”

Francis hit him, then; in the dark, it was a miracle the blow even connected, but connect it did, with a wet and sickly thud. After several moments of struggling, James pushed Francis away and stumbled backwards, holding his face with one gloved hand. 

It could have been a trick of the light, but Francis swore he saw a tear glimmering on his Second’s cheek as he drew himself up, and stepped backwards, toward the door.

“Damn you, Francis.”

 

##

 

Sitting at his desk two weeks later, James allowed the rush of guilt to overtake him again, crumpling up the sheet of paper he had been writing on into one fist. A few sentences dashed and blurred away into the creases of the page:

_ Francis, I should like to ask _

_ Captain Crozier, although we have not _

_ I pray you will come through this. I pray you will return to us. _

A rustle of wings and a skittering sound from the chair back told him Luna was there, now prodding his shoulder with the curve of her beak, the same way she might have tipped a fledgling from a nest.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“Nnngh,” replied James, but sat up anyway. “Hello, Luna.”

“Read.” She butted his epaulettes again. “Read. Good morning! Read.”

James sighed, and looked over at one of his notebooks, where a faint outline of the unwrit letter in question was still drying. “All right.” He cleared his throat. “So. I was going to tell Francis how we were all getting on in his absence. Hoping he feels better. Sending our good wishes.” Smoothing out the crumpled page, he composed the words first poised on his tongue—or at least on his pen. “You may be pleased to know we are training Luna further. Apparently Mr. Bridgens and  _ Terror _ ’s own Mr. Peglar have a heretofore secret wealth of knowledge on the mannerisms of tropical birds. If I am to understand correctly, the majority of that extensive tutelage may even stem from the  _ H.M.S. Beagle _ and Mister Darwin himself. I am sure that great man never imagined his advice should be heeded anywhere north of 66 degrees, but as we well know, life is full of tremendous surprises.”

“Bridgens!” chirped Luna.

James grinned, but spoke on as if reading straight from his page. “Luna is particularly enjoying spending time with Mister Bridgens. Perhaps nearly as much as his human companions. He reads to her often; I daresay she is picking it up rather nicely, now.”

_ “I knew a man unto whom God had given, _ ” Luna announced.

Startled into silence, James turned, blinking at her in confusion.

She repeated it, this time nearly word for word in Bridgens’ own voice. “ _ I knew a man. _ ”

“What poem is that?” James asked, automatic, not expecting an answer.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you remember when Mister Bridgens read it to you?”

“When I came here.”

“Which could mean any time after leaving  _ Terror _ .” James sighed. “Let us see if the man himself recalls the verse. Otherwise we may be here many hours yet.”

 

##

 

_ I knew a man unto whom God had given _

_ To be ruler 'mid his fellows. High _

_ Towered he over all the multitude. _

_ Renown, and rank, and popular applause _

_ Were his. And then a season more passed by, _

_ And by the fickle mass the man was scorned. _

_ Now sick at heart, and clouds upon his path, _

_ And danger o'er his head, and hope away, _

_ And scowls, and clenched fists at his advance _

_ Assailing him—yet he stood forth and smiled: _

_ Loftily waiving his symbol in the air, _

_ And as his eye lit up with sparkling fire _ , 

_ Loudly he pealed the inspiring battle-phrase, _

_ No turning back! * _

 

A noise in the doorway caught James’s attention; he was surprised and then pleased to see Little hovering in the doorway.

“Ah! Little. Come in.”

“Thank you, s-sir.” The Lieutenant shook the snow from his slops, and swept unruly hair from his face as he yanked off his Welsh wig. “Bit cold out today.”

“Rather, yes.”

James marked his place in the periodical Bridgens had been so kind to lend him, and put it aside, offering Little all manner of refreshment in an attempt at hospitality, despite the late hour. He was not sure what had driven the man to  _ Erebus’s _ door at this time of night, and did not want to guess, so he was gratified when Little finally spoke again.

“I actually wanted, er. A word with you. In private. If that’s all right.”

“Well, of course.” James shifted in his chair. “How may I help?”

Little did not seem to know what to do with his hands as he spoke, clenching and unclenching one fist by his side. “You know that Mister Jopson is working long hours these days. Understandably. And I do not imply that he dislikes the nature of the work, or that he is not happy to serve Captain Crozier, because he is. And he does. Only if...if he were working  _ too  _ hard, sir, what should I...I mean, what...could be done about it?”

“What could be done,” James echoed, not understanding.

“Yes, sir. I mean, I don’t mean—of course it isn’t a disciplinary matter. Only he’s just so  _ tired,  _ sir. He keeps falling asleep in the middle of supper. Or—or standing up, even! I—” Little cleared his throat and swiped at his face; James suddenly wondered how much of the blush in his cheeks or the water on his brow was due to the fierce cold. “Well. My concern is that he gives too much time to—well, to the ship, when he ought to rest.”

Over at her perch, Luna fluttered awake with a soft rustle of feathers; James barely glanced over as she groomed a wing, then flew over to the bookcase to join them.

“Hm.” James tapped the table with two fingers. “In truth, Edward, I do not believe you can force someone as devoted as Jopson to neglect his duties. Even if I or another officer ordered him to rest, he might disobey that edict the second he felt called to action. Such disobedience would occur with the highest of intentions, mind you, but it—if you are concerned enough to consult others in this matter, where you might normally consult your Captain, then I would suggest you speak plainly to Jopson instead. Not as his superior, but as his friend.”

“Well, I—we aren’t—he has many friends,” Little said lamely. “He mightn’t—”

“Edward,” James said again, emphasizing Little’s given name to make a point, “if you are canny enough to spot when a man’s fastidiousness is—well, we will merely say overzealous in this case—then I daresay you are friend enough to take the subject up with him. I don’t know Mister Jopson personally, but I daresay he lets few others see him asleep on his feet.”

“No, sir.”

“And I am also certain he would not be angry at a close friend for—for having his best interests at heart, and voicing them in kind.”

“I suppose not, sir.” On the bookshelves, Luna was now walking toward Edward’s hand, still placed on the little ledge. Her claws scratched gently at the wood as she moved closer. “Er. What’s—Luna, what are you—?”

She nipped at Edward’s finger in a very slow, obvious manner — as if to chastise him for asking such a stupid question rather than actually intending to hurt him — before stepping up onto his planted hand, and inspecting the sleeve of his jacket. After sitting here several seconds, she flew to James with a squawk, and settled onto his shoulder.

“Francis,” she said, and toyed with a strand of James’s hair. “Francis.”

“That’s uncanny,” said Edward, who now glanced down at his own sleeve, transfixed. “Can birds smell things? Like dogs, I mean?”

James considered this as seriously as he could, for someone who was currently being groomed by a bird, and kept getting hair in his face. “Not sure.”

“Francis,” insisted Luna again, then let out a volley of rude epithets that James was certain she had not learnt from Lady Jane or Sir John. Although a few of those words seemed to have a particular Yorkshire brogue to them.

Edward covered his mouth to hide a laugh. James didn’t even bother hiding his own amusement as he rose from the table, indicating Little could don his slops once more.

“Well. Perhaps I ought to stop into the Great Cabin tomorrow, even if Francis is too tired for visitors. Clearly one of us is in need of a trip to  _ Terror _ .”

 

##

 

When Francis woke again, he heard murmuring in the Great Cabin. Although he did not feel well, exactly — cotton-mouthed, achy, and dyspeptic — he was also not vomiting bile or sweating through his sheets from fever, which could probably be considered an improvement.

Out in the berth, he could hear James’s voice, quiet but cheerful. “Go and sit on your perch. I can’t give either of you a treat until then, do you hear me?”

With effort, Francis pushed himself up on trembling arms. When this didn’t immediately cause him to collapse, he swung one foot, and then the full leg out from under the blankets. His entire body shook from the effort, but still he persisted, until he was standing slumped next to the bunk, dizzy and sweating from even this small exertion.

He was going to walk to the door. He was going to open the door.

Luckily, it swung open before he could take a step forward. Silhouetted in the light of the brazier was James himself.

“Good Christ, Francis! What are you—here, let me—”

Together, they struggled into the Great Cabin, Francis wheezing and barely able to stand, James bearing his half-dead weight rather admirably for one so lean and lanky. James also helped him sit in a nearby chair, and quickly brought the blanket from his berth to wrap around his shoulders.

By this point, Francis was too tired to speak, and so he put his head down on the table with a grunt, feeling his stomach lurch slightly from the movement. He sat this way for what felt like nearly a minute before clearing his throat. 

“You’ll have to help me further—in a minute.”

“I can bring the bucket, if you’re going to vomit.”

“Nnnh.” Francis shook his head no, although he did not quite lift it from the table. The cold wood felt nice against his bare skin. “Head.”

“Course,” said James, as if he tended to such duties every day, and was not the second-in-command of the expedition entire. “Well, do let me know when you’re ready.”

After a few seconds, Francis felt it was safe to sit up, watching with bleary eyes as James tossed Neptune a small piece of dried meat, then tossed what appeared to be a piece of dried fruit to Luna.

“There you go,” he said, and scratched Neptune’s flank. The dog made a happy snuffling noise. “Both did very well on the way over.”

Even exhausted and ill, Francis could not help smiling at how well James had cared for the animals, and how much they seemed to love him in turn.

“Star,” Luna was chirping as a grinning James crouched down to pet her head. “Star!”

“O, let thy constant gaze be fixed upon that star,” James recited, voice low and cheerful. “Step not away, but gazing on the brightness of the guide, press forward to the end and falter not.”

“No!” squawked Luna, in a tone that Francis had only heard previously used by very young children, and had never assumed he would hear from a pet. “Star!”

“Oh, is there another one? I’m not certain which verse you mean, Luna.” James cast a confused look at Francis. “Sorry. We’ve been reading to her rather a lot lately.”

“Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art,” said Luna very clearly, which startled Francis, and seemed to positively floor James.

“Golly.” James’s mouth fell open. “Don’t think I even read you that one.”

Luna made a noise like water being poured into the bath, and flew off to roost by the brazier, then flew into Francis’s berth, now singing  _ The Star. _

“Think I’ll need you to help me up now,” Francis admitted at last, through a small groan. "If you don't mind."

Without another word, James came to his side and held out a hand.

**Author's Note:**

> You know what, I'm not even sure if there's enough poetry being recited in this, but it has the effect of making Francis actually happy as opposed to him being driven mad, LOL.
> 
> Thought about dragging this story out even more, but the only reason I would want to write more is so I can tell you the following: at some future date in Terror Camp, one character would get to ask "how did Hickey die?" and the answer would be "he got clawed to death in the most Hitchcockian fashion ever. Probably for trying to eat Neptune?"
> 
> Later there would probably be [a bird funeral](http://www.thefilteredlens.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/The-Office-Bird-Funeral-mindy-kaling-120424_1500_1000-400x266.jpg) once everyone's nearly dead from scurvy. I don't even know, y'all.
> 
> Luna is one of the Roman goddesses of the moon (technically the divine personification of the moon, whatevs), she's cool and she drives a chariot.
> 
> "Bright star, would I were as stedfast as thou art..." is a Keats love sonnet, and you can read it [here.](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44468/bright-star-would-i-were-stedfast-as-thou-art)
> 
> *This poem is an early Walt Whitman called ["No Turning Back"](https://whitmanarchive.org/published/periodical/poems/per.00050.html), taken from an early 1840s periodical.


End file.
